


That Fucking Word

by asexualshepard



Series: Broken Scopes [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: ???? kinda i guess???, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5368064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualshepard/pseuds/asexualshepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan wants to see everything, MacCready has a dirty mouth, and a blindfold is the only answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Fucking Word

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Once upon a time, this was canon for Ethan and Mac's sex life. My thoughts on their sexual dynamic have changed a lot and, while this event still occurs in their canon, I think, ignore the little details about the progression of this aspect of their relationship.

“You’re fuck— _freaking_ kidding me.”

Ethan’s cock twitches at the word even as it disappears. He loves hearing it—knowing that he’s the reason MacCready loses his composure—and every part of his body hums, agonizing to hear every sound he can draw from between Mac’s lips. The word might not be there yet— _Mac_ might not be there yet—but it’s a reminder that it could, that it will.  And it’s a damn miracle Ethan can speak at all, especially with the fluidity and confidence that his next words emerge with.

“Hey, you might like it,” he grins, hoping his face is more sultry than it feels as he shuffles his knees to bring him closer to MacCready.

“You’re not blindfolding me!”

But Ethan knows all the tricks. Despite the fact that they’ve only been intimate for a few months, he’s observant, and it had taken him a remarkably short amount of time to figure out all of the places that could have MacCready muttering blessed curse words. Ethan knows about the way he likes heavy touches, the words that can be muttered in his ears. And he uses this knowledge to his advantage.

Ethan presses his hands into MacCready’s skin as he crawls over him. Knees push beneath thighs, and he sidles closer, hips craving motion as the zipper of his jeans finds the curve of Mac’s ass. His fingers stroke along the lines of well-defined muscles, and that’s when the first gasp comes, sweet in his ears.

“Just try it?” he asks quietly. He knows MacCready is preparing to decline once more, so his teeth quickly fall to scrape over Mac’s shoulder, down his body to the soft hairs that lead beneath the waistband of his unbuttoned, unzipped jeans.

“Ethan…”

A growl. Ethan doesn’t know if it’s a warning or not, but he doesn’t stop mouthing at the expanse of skin beneath MacCready’s belly button. In an effort to keep the hips over which he rests from canting upwards, his fingers wrap around MacCready’s waist and push him down against the mattress beneath them, holding him there as his mouth wanders ever closer to MacCready’s erection.

And this is what does it.

Holding MacCready down is exactly what breaks his resolve.

It had taken them a while to fall into each other. Though Ethan had been quick to figure out what makes MacCready tick, learning how to use those ticks to their advantage had taken a little while longer. On the average day—when Ethan doesn’t have any particular plan, when they simply want to be close to each other—Mac takes the lead; he’s the one to press and tease and mutter dirty things in Ethan’s ear.

But then came the day that Ethan had fucked him up against a wall none too gently, and both of them had screamed.

Now, Ethan uses dominance to his advantage. He knows it makes Mac weak at the knees, shorts out every section of his brain, and so he digs stubbly fingernails into skin, kisses harder than he should and nearly bruises his lips. It’s the gentle scratches that pull a moan from between MacCready’s clenched teeth, the bites at his hips that get him to relent.

“Fine! Fine,” he says between pants, voice cracking in that way that makes Ethan’s fingers flex excitedly.

In a fraction of a second, his mouth completely forgets what it’s trying to do, and his gaze turns to MacCready’s face. He knows his toothy grin isn’t necessarily sexy, but he doesn’t care in that moment—he just wants to wrap something around MacCready’s eyes.

See, Ethan had noticed a pattern—it’s why the blindfold had come up in the first place. They both take great pleasure from their more strenuous activities, that much is sure, but more often than not Ethan will open his eyes after spilling himself across his abdomen to find MacCready still, watching with rapt attention, unable to chase his own end. It’s ridiculous.

And Ethan wants to be the one to watch when the coil snaps, for once.

So, he reaches behind him and grabs MacCready’s scarf from where he’d dropped it earlier, his fingers curling around it excitedly as he leans back to press his lips to MacCready’s. Mouths slide, teeth and tongues, breaths shuddered into each other.

“You’re a fu—Godda—” Frustrated by the inability to speak, MacCready snarls against his lips, and Ethan’s chuckle of response is breathless.

That _word_.

His hands shake as he eagerly raises the cloth, folds it as gently as he can over the bridge of MacCready’s nose. With lips pausing momentarily to make it easier, he pulls the fabric around his cheekbones, and his breaths are heavy as he struggles to tie a knot against the back of Mac’s head.

“You okay?”

The words—quietly muttered from between Mac’s lips—are a surprise, and, since MacCready’s eyes are hidden from sight, Ethan’s gaze finds his lips instead, set into a worried line. He’s about to make a joke when he realizes exactly what caused the question.

Warmth trickles between his ribs as he looks down at his hands, noting the way they seem to vibrate in eager anticipation. They’re not tremors—really, they’re not—but MacCready doesn’t know that. He thinks that Ethan is falling into one of his episodes, and the concern laced between the two words draws every breath in his lungs out into the space between them. Heart swollen, Ethan takes Mac’s face between his shaking hands and kisses him—soft, gentle, trying to express the comfortable heat coursing through his chest as best as he can.

He only leans away when his lungs constrict, and even then his fingers curl around the back of MacCready’s neck and remain there. He touches, watches, takes in every slight movement, every huff of breath that wades between them as he regains his own. And then Ethan smiles and smoothes his thumbs over the corners of Mac’s cheekbones.

“I’m good,” he mumbles.

When MacCready’s face sets into the same worried line as before, Ethan can’t help but kiss him again, taking Mac’s bottom lip between his teeth momentarily.

“Good shakes, Mac.” A breath between a smile. “Promise.”

MacCready’s lips remain at a similar angle leading Ethan to think he’s not convinced, but that’s alright. Ethan can show him.

Swallowing the lump building in his throat, Ethan climbs off the bed, smoothing his hand over MacCready’s ankle as he goes. It doesn’t take him much time to remove his jeans and underwear, but MacCready still reaches up to remove his scarf from around his eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ethan chastises as he balances on one foot in order to pull the other free of his pants. “That’s a damn good knot. Don’t ruin it.”

“If you don’t get your ass back over here now, I swear to God, I’ll—” Ethan’s brow rises while he waits for the end of the thought. “I’ll… do _something_.”

Ethan’s smile finds him easily as he kicks his pants off to the side. “We’ve hit that point, have we?”

“The least you can do is touch me, you dick.”

He laughs as he crawls back onto the bed, palms finding MacCready’s hips before curling around to his back and—finally—beneath the waistband of his jeans. His fingers press into the curve of MacCready’s ass, squeezing, and with a bit of effort he uses his wrists to push the waistband of Mac’s jeans further down his thighs. Only when his knuckles are brushing against the mattress does he release his hold.

Then the jeans are gone—tossed to the other side of the room—and Ethan feels his stomach tighten, eyes dropping to follow the lines of MacCready’s torso down to where his cock now rests against his stomach, hard and long and twitching. Breaths come quicker, heavier as he wets his lips and palms himself with one hand. The other reaches forward and circles around the base of MacCready’s erection, grip loose.

“Fuck, Ethan,” MacCready gasps, hips jerking upwards.

There it is.

That damn word.

Ethan can’t stop the groan that leaves him. He doesn’t even try to muffle it against his shoulder as his grip tightens and he pulls his hand upwards in heavy strokes, watching with rapt attention, wanting to hear _everything_. And when his thumb catches beneath the swollen head before rubbing over it, pressing at the slit, MacCready’s hips thrust upwards into his grip.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Three of them are almost too much, and the hand wrapped around MacCready stills as Ethan attempts to catch his breath, a shudder running down the back of his spine. In a desperate attempt to quell the fire flaring along his length, he squeezes his own erection. But it’s not enough—it’s never enough—and he finds himself clambering over MacCready’s hips once more without a moment of thought.  

Then both of their cocks are in his palm and his lips against Mac’s neck. Heaved breaths and teeth against skin as they roll against one another, thrusting into Ethan’s hand, friction rough for the first few strokes. As they slowly find themselves coated in the silky liquid leaking from both of them, the slight burn of dry skin fades, and moans permeate the air. MacCready’s hands find Ethan’s ass and grip tight, pulling down as a string of sweet, blessed curse words drip from his tongue.

“Fuck, Ethan, just—shit, shit, shit, ah, _fuck_.”

Ethan’s brain short-circuits, and he decides as he bites down on MacCready’s shoulder that he’ll apologize for any marks he leaves with his teeth later. His fingers tighten around them, pressure beginning to build low in his stomach, and he almost lets himself finish right then and there.

It takes a great amount of self control to pull himself away, kneeling between MacCready’s knees. For the briefest of moments, he wishes he’d continued, wishes he’d spent himself in his own hand, over Mac’s stomach, his erection. But then his eyes find MacCready’s face.

His head is thrown back, scarf still wrapped around his eyes. But that’s not what makes Ethan’s legs shake. No, what makes his breaths shuddered and heavy, what makes his fingers twitch, is the way MacCready’s mouth hangs open, chin angled towards the ceiling above them, and the gasps that accompany it.

Ethan’s cock throbs, but his eyes don’t move. He gets it now—why MacCready does that thing where he freezes mid-thrust. And suddenly Ethan’s only desire is to watch as MacCready becomes completely undone, to see and hear the broken sounds as he comes across those tight muscles that Ethan loves so much.

“Can I fuck you?”

He knows the answer—asking is more a reassurance than anything—but he still receives it.

“Hell, yeah.”

MacCready’s voice breaks as his hips thrust into the air, and Ethan feels like he’s going to fall apart. Every muscle in his body shakes as he climbs forwards and presses a sloppy kiss to Mac’s lips, hands burying themselves in his hair, the tip of his cock dragging across taut muscles. Gasps are swallowed, lips bitten, and Ethan _needs_.

He moves as quickly as he can. The second he’s off the bed, the air around him is too cold, empty, and his hands ruin the fairly orderly organization to his pack as he digs around for the bottle he’d repurposed and filled with a substance that had taken him twenty tries to get right.

When he stands and turns to wander back into MacCready’s warmth, his legs almost give out.

One of MacCready’s hands has been planted against the mattress behind his head and the other wrapped around his length. Every breath is heaved as he thrusts upwards, pressing his heels to the mattress. Whimpers. Moans in the form of Ethan’s name that carry across the empty space.

“Fuck, Mac.”

He can hardly breathe, and the bottle in his hand is dropped onto the mattress when he takes MacCready’s hips into his hands and pulls him towards the edge of the bed. Even as Ethan settles on his knees, MacCready still rolls his hips against his palm and, for a moment, Ethan can’t look away. But then his hand is wrapping around MacCready’s wrist and his mouth is around the head of his cock and MacCready arches.

“Holy _fuck_ , Ethan!”

That word. That _fucking_ word.

Everything is shaking and warm and Ethan’s fingers are digging into the muscles of MacCready’s hips, pushing him against the mattress once more. MacCready’s cock is heavy against his tongue, warm as he sucks and strokes and with lips stretched. Every moan, every word that falls from Mac’s lips makes his own erection twitch against his thigh. It’s only when fingers dig into his hair that he pulls away, eyes drifting once more up MacCready’s body, watching the muscles in his chest stretch as his back arches and his hips thrust against nothing.

Ethan’s hands shake more violently as they find the bottle and twist the cap off. He pours a liberal amount of the clear, slightly-viscous liquid into his palm and sets the bottle aside before rubbing his hands together in an attempt to bring some warmth to the chilled substance. Then, the inside of his elbow is hooking around MacCready’s hip and pulling him closer.

“Legs wide, Mac,” he mutters, a throaty reminder as he bites one of the thighs at his shoulders. Despite the fact that he expects it, he shudders when MacCready responds to his instruction immediately, thighs falling from reach.

Ethan licks his lips, hands hovering. “Ready?”

“Fuck, yes, please, just fuckin—”

The words disappear, replaced by a long, drawn out moan as Ethan’s finger presses, trailing over the patch of skin behind MacCready’s sack before finding the ring of muscle beneath it. He’s slow, deliberate, and he watches Mac’s face not just for his own pleasure, but to make sure there’s no discomfort. Usually, it’s MacCready who’s doing this—Ethan is rarely the one buried in tight heat, and the last thing he wants is to ruin everything by going too fast.

So, he takes his time, pressing inwards to one knuckle before drawing out only to push back in a moment later. Above him, MacCready shakes, words still falling from beneath his tongue, urging Ethan to continue with curses and groans and tiny thrusts. And then his finger is buried and MacCready is moaning his name and he has to restrain himself from simply standing and burying himself in MacCready’s body.

It only gets worse when he adds another finger, stretching and rubbing carefully, cock at full attention. The words are louder, the moans longer, and soon MacCready is begging—or demanding.

“Fucking—fuck, Ethan, enough with the damn fingers!”

With heavy breaths, Ethan stands and strokes himself, coating his length in the slippery liquid left on his hands. He wipes the excess on the mattress—a problem the next person to rent this room can deal with—as he pushes MacCready further onto the bed and crawls after him. Settling between thighs, his eyes find Mac’s face.

Then, Ethan is lining himself up, the wide head of his cock pressing against the loosened muscle as his other hand finds a tight grip on Mac’s hip. He stops for a moment, simply watching the way MacCready’s jaw can’t seem to find a degree of openness that it likes, and then finally pushes forward.

He wants to moan, to close his eyes and fall headfirst into the tight sensation gripping his length, but he doesn’t. It takes effort to get his throat to close around any sounds he might make, his legs shake as he forces himself to go slowly. But his gaze doesn’t leave MacCready’s face, and damn if it isn’t worth it.

Jaw drops open, muscles tight and shuddering, fists curl around the frail metal of the barred headboard. And the sounds. They’re small, breathless, barely reaching Ethan’s ears. But they’re there and the pitch is higher than Ethan is used to and he can’t breathe. Then his hips meet MacCready’s ass, and he wants to scream.

The wait is agony, sheathed in warmth as he allows MacCready time to adjust, hips pressing forward in a desperate attempt to keep himself from thrusting. Mac is going to have hand-shaped bruises on his hips in the morning, but Ethan doubts that he’ll care.

It’s a gentle roll of those to-be-bruised hips that finally pulls a strained noise from Ethan’s center—a whine at the back of his throat. And, with caution, he slowly pulls back, cock dragging over muscles. The push back in is just as slow, but then MacCready’s ankles are digging into Ethan’s ass, and he knows immediately what that means.

The next pull back is just as slow as the first as Ethan attempts to fix his eyes on MacCready’s mouth, and when only the head of his length is nestled inside, he takes a deep breath and thrusts forwards, hips slamming against Mac’s ass as every inch of Ethan’s cock is buried within. The way MacCready throws his  head back against the mattress is the sweetest torture—at least until—

“Fuuuuuuuuckkkkk…”

That Goddamn word, drawn out and strangled and twisted with a moan, and every bit of restraint Ethan has vanishes. His hips pull back and snap forward, and again, over and over as he finds a quick pace. More of those moans fall from MacCready’s tongue, louder as thrust after thrust fills him, that word saturating the silence, and Ethan can feel the heat low in his stomach beginning to boil over.

His pace doesn’t slow as he shakily takes MacCready’s cock in hand, stroking quickly and twisting his palm over the head in that way he knows Mac likes. MacCready’s moans transform into shouts—of Ethan’s name, of that word, of several other words that Ethan enjoys. And he wants to fall forwards and bury his face in MacCready’s neck, but—again—he doesn’t. He watches the muscles in Mac’s neck and shoulders and jaw twitch and shake, admires the stretch of his mouth, and there’s only one more thing he wants.

“Come on, Mac,” he breathes, removing his hand from MacCready’s hip to plant it against the mattress, thrusts beginning to stutter. “Come for me.”

One, two more strokes, and MacCready’s body tightens and stills, back arching as muscles go taut. His mouth falls open in a long moan—longer than any of its predecessors, and then he’s spilling across his stomach, lines falling across muscles as Ethan strokes every last bit out of him, watching, memorizing. Even as he goes limp, his arms and legs shake, and God, Ethan wants to see that over and over again.

“Boss?” MacCready asks breathlessly, accompanied by a smug smile that brings Ethan back down to Earth.

And he groans, because he’s still hard and aching and buried in MacCready’s body, and—for the first time that evening—he allows himself to focus on nothing but the tight heat clenching around him. He folds over—wraps his arms around MacCready’s middle and snaps his hips back, setting his pace anew. Lips press against skin, fingers dig into relaxed muscles, and the coil begins to tighten once more as his body sings, gasping as his hips stutter and his cock swells. It’s only another few moments, another shuddering thrust, and he comes, long and hard, chin dropping against MacCready’s chest. And he can’t breathe. Fingernails dig into the pliant body beneath him as his own tightens over and over again.

Slowly, he returns to himself, arms shaking and forehead pressing to MacCready’s shoulder as he relearns how to breathe. He thinks he feels fingers smooth through his hair, but his body is over-stimulated and—for at least another few moments—nothing feels real. Nothing outside of the warm skin beneath him, the tumbling feeling in his gut, actually exists.

Ethan curls his fingers into the soft flesh of MacCready’s back, eyes closing against the sudden exhaustion dragging over his muscles.

“You’re never taking that blindfold off,” he mumbles into the skin over Mac’s shoulder.

“Heck, no.” This time, Ethan is sure he feels fingers against his scalp. “You get to wear it next time.”

The witty reply on the tip of Ethan’s tongue dies when his cock—spent and softening rapidly—twitches at the idea. Instead, he presses messy kisses along MacCready’s collar bone, up his neck to his lips, swollen and red. He doesn’t bother untying the knot, just pulls the scarf up and away and, as MacCready’s gaze falls to find his, Ethan comes to a realization.

Though he likes the blindfold, he missed MacCready’s eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. My bad.


End file.
